


Casting from an Old Mould

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: A new town brings forth some old habits. Unfortunately, that in turn unearths some new problems as well.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mainecoon76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainecoon76/gifts).



> Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write this! I had been out of Thorin/Dwalin ideas for a while, but this fixed that. :)  
> I hope you enjoy it! Happy holidays!

Thorin looked out across the settlement. Tendrils of woodsmoke were rising from the houses in the outer town that were already finished, drifting away across the palisade they had erected right at the beginning. There had been quite a bit of discussion about it, whether it was right to wall in part of the area around where the settlement would be carved out of the mountains, but Thorin did not regret it. He watched as two laughing dwarflings chased each other around a stack of wood. There was no nervous grown dwarf standing nearby, watching for possible danger as there always had been in the wilderness and even the towns of men. These dwarflings would hopefully grow up without fearing immanent attack.

Some dwarves had also decided to build more permanent houses between the tents. At first, Thorin had feared that this was because the building of the mountain town was not progressing fast enough, but when he asked them, they said that they had spent most of their lives above ground and felt that it was just as well as living in the rock of the mountains. Once a few had started doing this, more had joined them. And more dwarves kept arriving wanting to settle, whether above or below ground.

Thorin took a deep breath of the cool mountain air. This had been a good decision. It was not Erebor, but it was becoming a safe place for his people to stay, to feel at home even. 

Thorin was nearly surprised that he didn’t startle when he suddenly heard Dwalin’s voice beside him.  
“A misty morning that promises a bright day.”

Thorin nodded. “It will be good for getting the new beams into the inner town. And Óin will be pleased about having good weather for his trip to the market.”

“Can you imagine what it will be like when this town has a proper market of its own?” Dwalin asked.

And Thorin realised he could. It had usually been on the plans they had drawn for the town, pencil and ink on parchment, but today, he could see it in front of him. He could see stands with bread, steaming stew and mushrooms, pens with livestock instead of the lone rooster that was calling and the handful of goats bleating in the shed towards the edge of the outer town. And in the inner market, he could imagine bales of cloth spread out, together with teas, spices, jewels and works of craft. His town was slowly coming to life, and he could see its future spread out in front of him.

“I can. I actually can.”

He turned and smiled at Dwalin. Dwalin grinned back and Thorin suddenly felt reminded of standing on the ramparts of Erebor, looking out across the valley and onto the distant roofs and towers of Dale. They had spent countless hours like that when they were young, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes they hadn’t talked at all, their shoulders merely brushing as they looked out. 

“This is good, isn’t it?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin wasn’t entirely sure whether he meant the market, the morning or the town. Perhaps Dwalin even meant the two of them standing and looking out like in old times. Whatever it was, Thorin wholeheartedly agreed.

 

It was a milestone, Thorin thought as he looked past the crowd at the inner town’s new gate. It was not a town’s heart, but perhaps a town’s shield and banner, all in one. And this evening, he had finally officially inaugurated it. It was not a particularly pompous banner, showing little of the subtle art his forefathers had decorated their gates with. There were no hidden runes, nor any writing at all, aside from the runes Thorin had written on it earlier during the ceremony. The gate lacked any great statues.

It did melt into the mountainside well when closed and Thorin hoped it would be able to fool most enemies if it ever came to that. It was the gate to the town of a people in exile, functional rather than fancy. Thorin liked it. It was large enough to admit carts, not dragons. 

And his people were celebrating it as the milestone it was. Long tables fashioned from pine wood filled the entrance hall and the space between the gate and the first houses and tents of the outer town. The town’s best cooks had outdone themselves. Platters of mutton and venison stood on the tables, along with cheese, countless sauces, traditional bannock bread and of course mead and ale. They would be able to eat from the leftovers for days to come, judging by the amount of food still left now that the dwarves were starting to lean back to talk or starting wild dances on the free space. Thorin smiled as he watched Óin being chased by a giggling Fíli. 

Thorin slowly made his way towards where Dís and Víli were sitting, stopping to talk a few times on his way there. 

He stopped short when he saw Víli hold out a loaf of bannock bread to Dís. 

“Half of mine and half of yours, thus shall it be from this day on.”

Dís broke the bread in half and repeated the words. It was not unusual for couples to repeat their vows from time to time or never have a public wedding in the first place, only going through the ritual in private. 

What Thorin wasn’t expecting to see was Víli gently running his hand over his wife’s stomach. 

Thorin grinned and decided to take a short walk instead.

 

He was surprised to see someone was already on the third watchtower of the palisade, pipe glowing in the near darkness dspite the rain.

“Are you on watch tonight?” He asked as he climbed the stairs to join Dwalin. He was fairly certain he had seen him at the ceremony earlier.

“No. I just felt like a little more quiet.”

“Good. Because you are facing the wrong way to see any wargs coming at us,” Thorin said, giving Dwalin a light elbow between the ribs to make him budge over.

“Oh, you think?” Dwalin said, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m fairly certain I just escaped certain mauling by dwarfling.”

“Was Fíli at it again?” Thorin asked, chuckling as he stuffed his pipe.

“Hm. The lad needs to realise I’m not his chewing wood. It’s not my problem his teeth are coming in. Or at least, it shouldn’t be my problem.”

Thorin struck a match and lit his pipe. “You’re soft on the lad. Everyone else just gives him his chewing ring instead of letting him gnaw on their hands.”

Dwalin shrugged. “I’ll survive. And it will likely not last that much longer.”

“I wouldn’t be that optimistic if I were you. I think Dís and Víli may have a new little terror soon.”

“Oh? They’re braver than I realised.” Dwalin laughed.

“They definitely are. I don’t think they intended me to know just yet,” Thorin added. “But don’t let the trees see...”

“Unless you want the forest to know,” Dwalin finished the saying for him. “Don’t worry, you know I won’t tell anybody.”

They lapsed into silence.

Thorin hadn’t intended to tell anybody. It was private, after all. He knew he could trust Dwalin not to pass the word on though, and it did feel nice to be able to share the news.

Perhaps the situation reminded him of when they were young, standing above the gates, joking and sharing secrets.

It had been something his father had told him to do. 

_“Find yourself advisors, dwarves you can trust. There will be dwarves your gut tells you to trust. Don’t trust them, tell them about little things, little secrets instead. Wait to see if those little things come back to your ears from different mouths. If none of them do, then you can consider trusting that dwarf.”_

_There had been a bitter taste as Thorin told Dwalin about how he had seen Naba conceal the shards of a jar she had broken in a restaurant so that she wouldn’t have to pay for the damage. There was a niggling guilt that he didn’t trust Dwalin as he wanted to, that he was testing him in this way. And Dwalin wouldn’t even be an advisor, wasn’t interested in politics, diplomacy or the workings of the court. He might be one of Thorin’s generals, his weapon master or his personal guard, but not an advisor. Still, Thorin needed to know he could trust him, _had_ to be able to trust him. _

_In the days and weeks that followed, Thorin paid extra attention to everything he heard about the guards. He heard nothing of an arrest and no rumours. In the eyes of all, Naba remained the honest dwarf she had previously been. Only Thorin and Dwalin exchanged glances when they heard the restaurant owner complaining about jars going missing. And Thorin slept easier when he realised that he could truly trust his life-long friend the way he always had. Their evenings above the gate turned back to light-hearted joking and talks about the things going on in the mountain._

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Dwalin asked, bringing Thorin out of his thoughts of the past. “Not just that it is wonderful for Dís and Víli and that Fíli will have someone to play and get into mischief with. But it’s not just them. Dwarves are feeling safe, settling down, starting families. Nobody is still constantly looking over their shoulder wondering if something awful will happen. You know I doubted your plans at first, but founding this settlement was the right thing to do. It’s not Erebor or Khazâd-Dum, but it is safe.”

“I’m glad you see it this way,” Thorin said. “It is turning out differently than I thought it would. I meant it to be a place to set up my furnace and a safe place for times of need, but I did not expect this many dwarves to settle here, to want a home outside the old cities. It feels different than I thought it would too. It’s not Erebor and it never will be, but until the opportunity arises to retake Erebor, I think it might be something of a home.”

 

A few days later, Thorin found himself running into Dwalin on the third tower again on his evening walk.

“Out for your evening smoke as well?” Thorin asked.

“Hm. It’s nice to let things settle after a long day.”

“I hope you don’t mind my company?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin grinned at him. “Have I ever?”

“I hope not,” Thorin grinned back, slightly surprised to get a grin out of Dwalin this easily. The years on the road had taken their toll on both of them and the quick laughter of their youth lay lost somewhere on the dusty roads they had travelled.  
Thorin had turned his life into one trying to make things easier for his people by working out contracts to let more dwarves work in the various towns of men and earning money to help those of his people who couldn’t do so themselves. Dwalin had dedicated himself to a similar duty in a different way, offering his services to protect dwarrow families moving from one town to another. Sometimes they stayed in the same towns, sometimes they didn’t see each other for months at a time. When they did, they had discussed the problems they had run into and dangers that might come up and how to avoid them. Their conversations were driven by necessity, not by relaxed leisure as they had been in the days before the dragon.

“Remember how we used to stand on the ramparts of Erebor like this?” Dwalin asked. 

He had almost kissed Dwalin once, on an evening like this long ago. Thorin didn’t know why the memory suddenly came to him at this moment. Dwalin had laughed about something, Thorin could no longer remember about what, only that it had been at his cost. When the laughter had faded into a smug grin, Thorin had leaned forwards to kiss it off Dwalin’s face. Something had stopped him, a loud noise or a buzzing insect. They had stood and looked at each other for a moment, uncertain. And then the moment had passed, Dwalin scratching his nose and looking anywhere but Thorin and Thorin reaching for a pebble to toss down the mountain side. 

“How young and silly we were then,” Thorin said. “Mistaking the smallest things for world-changing.”

“Just normal youths,” Dwalin said, “nothing wrong about that. Well, except perhaps for you being someone _important_.”

That was a joke Thorin really hadn’t heard in years. Dwalin had liked to rib him for the ceremonies and additional lessons he had had to attend, somehow managing to turn that difference into an inside joke. Still, Thorin had started to feel the responsibilities weigh him down. He knew he was expected to have an heir one day so marrying Dwalin wasn’t really an option. Sometimes, as they stood looking out towards Dale, Thorin had considered eloping. Frerin was equally suited to be king one day. How foolish he had been. Once Erebor was lost, he had never again considered shirking his duties towards his people.

“Well, I may have been important then, but you’re still silly, if you are thinking about the past this much.” 

Thorin got an elbow between the ribs as reply. If Dwalin stood a little closer to him than he did before, Thorin wasn’t complaining.

And somehow, they just happened to change their daily routines so that they spent most of their evenings looking out over the town, smoking their pipes and reflecting the day’s events.

 

Thorin leaned back against the stone he and Dwalin were sitting against and brushed away the last bread crumbs of his lunch. He looked out across the valley. They had spent the morning prospecting, tapping at rocks and following streams.

“I’m sure all the little streams join together in the mountains to form the Little Lune and I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t too far from our town.”

Dwalin nodded. “Yes, the area of water stone leads past not too far from the town. We should discuss building a tunnel in that direction with the council.”

“Yes, though I’m not sure they’ll be happy about the suggestion.” There had been quite a few votes to stay close to the surface when building the town; the stories of Durin’s bane were a reason for many to remain cautious. 

“A more secure water supply would be good,” Dwalin said. “Perhaps that will win most of them over. We might even have a proper pipe system like in Erebor, if our engineers can manage that.”

“I hope so,” Thorin replied. “They have proven quite capable so far and have usually had the right instincts when trying something new. Young Bombur seems especially talented and hard-working. I think I’ll have a talk with him about whether he thinks it feasible and how he would go about it.”

“The red-haired Broadbeam fellow? Yes, he seems competent, giving him a larger task in planning things sounds good. I like him. Not a lot of talk, but good work and a sensible appetite.”

“Can you imagine having water out of a pipe system again?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin laughed. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

They lapsed into silence. Thorin tried to remember the details of the pipe system in Erebor, but he had never paid it that much attention beyond the basics. Perhaps Balin did, and maybe Bombur would really be good enough to figure it out with the help of what the exiles could remember. Of course, they would need to find at least one of the underground streams first. And having the stream as an additional exit wouldn’t hurt either.

He let his gaze wander to the copse of trees where the little stream they had followed earlier disappeared into a dense thicket and didn’t reappear again. A flock of birds fluttered from it and alighted in a cherry tree a little further away. The warm sun shone on Thorin and he let his eyes fall shut. An insect buzzed nearby and a slight breeze whispered through the leaves of the trees.

“You know your hair is going to be a mess if you fall asleep here?” Dwalin asked, his voice teasing but soft.

“Hm. Not if you braid it,” Thorin mumbled. They had often done that in Erebor, Dwalin braiding Thorin’s hair to prevent it from becoming a complete mess during training or while on a hunt. Of course, Thorin could have done it himself, but it had been a habit that both of them enjoyed, though neither of them remembered how it had started.

Dwalin’s large, rough hands were still as gentle as Thorin remembered. He breathed a sigh of contentment as Dwalin parted his hair with soft tugs.

It was as if there was a mould, Thorin realised. They had carved it out of the stone in Erebor, and now that they were settled again, they were realising they just had to pour in molten metal. They were right where they had been in Erebor, going on little hunting trips together, spending their time off looking out across the surrounding land and talking or just enjoying each other’s presence. 

They _were_ pouring in the metal, Thorin thought as he drifted into sleep, Dwalin’s hands gently running through his hair. All the little touches, glances, smiles. They just hadn’t decided to take off the mould and see how their piece of jewellery had turned out. 

 

Of course, the little afternoon nap prevented Thorin from falling asleep that evening. Instead his thoughts ran in circles as his eyes traced the familiar patterns on the ceiling.

When he did fall asleep, he dreamt of Erebor. It was not the usual nightmare; there were no flames or dragons. 

_There was music and light, and he was dancing. It was a dance like countless ones before it, both expected of him and a pleasant way to pass the celebration after a ceremony. Until he saw Dwalin staring at him, jealousy written plain on his face as he turned away and left._

_All of a sudden, Thorin’s feet were only following the steps of the dance automatically. Thorin felt guilt wash over him, followed by a sense of indignation. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong, it was just a dance like a hundred others and it was not even as if either of them had spoken. And at the same time, he felt oddly giddy because in a way, he _wanted_ Dwalin to be jealous, wanted him to insist Thorin dance with him instead. _

_Dwalin had avoided him for a few days after that, until Thorin managed to get him to be his sparing partner during training. It hadn’t gone very well._

_He could tell that Dwalin was less than pleased about having to deal with Thorin and their sparing had soon turned increasingly intense. Finally, Thorin had managed to disarm Dwalin. Except that Dwalin came at him bare-handed and their training session turned into a grappling match. Thorin was vaguely aware of the other dwarves in the training hall standing around them and telling them to stop. Thorin slipped and Dwalin was on top of him, one hand grasping his collar and the other poised to punch Thorin. Dwalin hesitated, glaring down at Thorin. Thorin held his stare._

_“It was just a dance,” Thorin murmured._

_“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dwalin ground out, his stubbornly set jaw suggesting otherwise._

_Thorin could feel Dwalin’s breath on his face, the warm puffs of air glancing off his mouth. He wondered if it was odd to be thinking about kissing Dwalin in this situation and wondered how Dwalin would react if he did._

_That was when someone threw a bucket of water over them. Others used their surprise to pull them apart._

_“What was that about?” Óin asked, keeping an unnecessary hold on Thorin’s arm as Balin pulled Dwalin away._

_Thorin didn’t answer and instead dried his face with the towel Glóin offered him._

_A few minutes later, Dwalin came back towards him, Balin hovering beside him._

_“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at the floor._

_Thorin nodded. “I am too. Will I see you tomorrow evening? There is a council meeting tonight.”_

_“Yes,” Dwalin said, finally looking up. He blushed when he met Thorin’s eyes._

Thorin woke up drenched in sweat. They hadn’t met the following evening, hadn’t had the conversation Thorin finally wanted to dare having. The dragon had come before that.

It had melted away all they had built, had stopped them from finally taking the cast out of the mould.

There had been so many more important things on the road. They had focussed on surviving and refilling the mould had seemed so insignificant. Thorin had neither had the energy nor the heart for it, and after a while, it had just slipped his mind, becoming one of the luxuries of his youth, precious to remember but no longer relevant to his life. His life had stopped being his own and started to be for his people. They had no need for him to have such a dalliance and they were not so secure that he could just pretend this was Erebor.

Now that they were this far again, Thorin no longer was entirely sure if he wanted to, if he dared to. As safe as it felt, this was just a small settlement in the mountains, with no powerful allies, no established trade or economy. It was not much, and they could not afford to eye with luxury. Not away from Erebor.

 

There was a faint whisper coming from the walls of the tunnel they were excavating. Some of the dwarves kept exchanging nervous glances. They had insisted on building places in the tunnel which could quickly be blocked should the need arise. It had been the compromise necessary to convince those who feared awaking ancient evils in the deep.

Bombur, on the other hand, was excited. It almost made him talkative.

“Let’s keep digging! I know that’s water, it has to be!”

From all there plans and prospecting, there ought to be. Thorin had let everybody who knew how to listen to tapping echoes listen to the stone in this area. Most agreed that there was a hollow and most likely water.

Thwack. One of the pickaxes went through the stone.

“There’s a hollow here!”

The dwarf whose pickaxe had created the breach pulled it out, widening the hole in the process. He peaked through.

“There’s a faint glow, but I can’t see anything.”

“A glow? Is it fire?”

“I don’t think so, it’s not flickering and it has the wrong colour. It is more of a bluish light.”

“Let me see!” One of the other dwarves demanded. 

“I want to see as well!”

“Bifur, could you check what the tapping echoes say?” Thorin asked.

Bifur nodded and made his way to the stone. He put his ear to the wall, tapped it and listened, before repeating the procedure a little distance from the first spot. 

/There’s just a thin wall of stone left between us and a big cavern. I’m not sure how big it is, but I hear water,/ he signed. 

“Good, thank you,” Thorin said. “Let’s widen the hole enough to really look through.”

The dwarf who had originally created the breach resumed his work and within a few minutes, the hole was wide enough for the dwarf to stick his head through.

“Oh. It’s not fire. Look.”

Thorin stepped forward, but Dwalin’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Let me.”

Thorin nodded, seeing the concern on Dwalin’s face. 

Dwalin looked through the window. He was wide-eyed when he resurfaced.

“Go ahead, it’s safe enough.”

The view still wasn’t as wide as it could be, but it was enough to tell Thorin what he needed to know.

“Bombur, if you think it’s safe to proceed, we widen it to a door. 

Bombur took a good look, tapped some of the stone around what was to become a door and nodded. 

“It’s safe to break through this wall completely. Go ahead.”

They picked up the pickaxes and set to work. Before long, they had cleared a hole large enough for a dwarf to step through. They fastened a hook to one of the side walls and tied a rope to it, since the doorway led to a fairly steep slope. One by one, the dwarves stepped through the hole and made their way down to the flat area by the river. 

For there was a river. Its surface shimmered in the blue light and it stretched wider and deeper than Thorin had hoped for. Pale fish flitted in the water. Where the river gurgled over the pale stone, the echoes of the sound spread out through the entire cavern. And the cavern was enormous. Thorin could just barely make out the smooth opposite wall, while the walls in the direction the river flowed were largely out of sight. Stone pillars grew from the floor and the ceiling, forming nooks and alcoves. Some of the pillars had been smoothed and worn down by floods, while the ones higher up the slope were detailed, the rock growing like dripped candle wax. They were mirrored on the ceiling, where long spikes and pillars grew towards the floor, a distance they were far from overcoming. And between the pillars hung streamers of thousands of tiny spheres, illuminated by tiny blue lights.

“Glow worms,” Thorin breathed.

Around him, the other dwarves looked around in wonder. Some wandered off to inspect the different wonders of the cavern, others patted their friends on the shoulders or embraced in celebration.

“We made it. We actually found it!” Dwalin came up to Thorin and pulled him into a hug. 

“We did. It’s like in Erebor, isn’t it?” Thorin asked against Dwalin’s neck.

“Yes. Just look at the glow worms!”

“This is how it must have been when Durin looked into Kheled-zâram.”

“Except that we aren’t alone,” Dwalin said so quietly that Thorin could barely hear it.

“No, we aren’t.”

“I think I like it better this way.”

Dwalin loosened the hug just enough to press his forehead against Thorin’s. There was a small voice at the back of Thorin’s head reminding him that it wasn’t done, it was just for kin or spouses. It was drowned out by his heartbeat, loud enough that it seemed to fill the entire cavern. 

 

They sent back word to the town and in small groups, dwarves began to trickle into the cavern, marvelling at its wonders. 

Thorin was not sure who made the decision or if anybody had made it at all. Perhaps it was just a general impulse to bring food to the main hall and celebrate the new discovery. Either way, people were feasting, singing and dancing. 

Thorin watched the celebrations leaned against the wall closest to the exit. He wanted to figure out a few ideas for how to build the pipe system, but his mind kept whirring back to the discovery of the river and his moment with Dwalin. 

He watched Dwalin swing Fíli around to the music and disappear into the crowd again moments later. 

“Everything alright?” 

Thorin startled. He hadn’t expected anyone to notice him. He needed a moment to place the cheerful face looking at him but then recognised it as Bombur’s brother, Bofur.

Thorin nodded.

“Are you sure? Because you look like you’ve had a few ales too many.”

Thorin worked his mouth into a smile. “I haven’t had any, to be honest.”

“Not a single one?! Good grief, I knew there was something wrong with you! Not with _you_ as such of course, you’re brilliant with this town and seeing Bombur for the potential he’s got, but not a _single_ ale?! On such a day? Come on, let’s get you one!”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Alright, if you insist. Let me know if you change your mind though, I do hate having anyone look down on an occasion like this.” 

After a last scrutinising look, Bofur headed back into the crowd.

Thorin had thought about leaving earlier, but when he got to the door, he had immediately been turned around by several dwarves that wanted to talk to him. 

He caught another glimpse of Dwalin, this time swaying slightly as he was pulled into a line of dancing dwarves. Thorin had a feeling Dwalin wouldn’t cause Bofur any concern.

Thorin was probably the only dwarf in the room who felt a strange sense of foreboding.

There was a loud crash in the hallway. Thorin found himself running to see what was going on before he could even sort his thoughts. 

He burst into the corridor, only to almost slip in a foaming mass.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to drop it,” one of the dwarves standing around the cracked barrel of ale said.

Thorin stared at him for a moment, his heart racing and his hand on his sword. It took him longer than it should have to realise that the crash had been caused by the barrel falling.

“Never mind,” he finally managed. “Just make sure you get it cleaned up.”

“Of course,” the dwarves replied.

Thorin continued towards the gate, just to make sure there really was nothing amiss. The gate was half closed as it usually was at night. Outside, the moon shone and there was little more than a breeze whispering in the trees beyond the outer town. 

“Anything unusual?” Thorin asked the guards at the main gate.

“No, nothing unusual to report. Unless you want the newest gossip?”

Thorin shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.”

Thorin headed back into the main hall. Perhaps Bofur was right and some ale would do him good. 

He had just found himself an ale and was leaning against his wall again when Dwalin found him.

“Here you are! I’ve been wondering where you were off to.” Dwalin leaned back against the wall beside Thorin.

“I just had to investigate a barrel of ale falling to the ground.”

“Oh. Did it survive?” Dwalin asked with a grin.

“I’m afraid not,” Thorin replied.

“That’s a true shame.”

Thorin took a sip of his ale and grinned. It felt good to just stand next to Dwalin drinking their ales as they usually did. Perhaps he just needed a few moments to unwind. He would be able to think through all the things he that had happened today later, once his mind had cleared a bit.

They stood for a while, watching the others dance and celebrate.

“I was thinking,” Dwalin said and Thorin turned to see Dwalin looking at him, his steel-blue eyes earnest and open. “And of course, I’ve been thinking about this since before today, but standing in the cavern with you like that really made up my mind. We’ve been on this path for so long, with too many interruptions, if you ask me, but really, for a long time... so I think it is time for me to just ask. I would like to break the bread with you. Not today, obviously, but sometime in the foreseeable future. Would you...”

Thorin turned and fled.

 

Thorin beat at the stone of what would one day be the market hall with his pickaxe. The stone just needed to be cleared, there was no need for fine edges or leaving enough stone for decorations. He whacked against it, hard, as hard as he could. He needed it to crumble to pieces, to turn to rubble. It was blind force, loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

Because he didn’t want to think about how his sense of foreboding had proved true as there had been a cave in during constructions on the North side of the town that had left three dwarves severely injured. He didn’t want to think about the subsequent argument in the council about abandoning the constructions in that area and about them calling all the plans for the pipe system too dangerous as well. And most of all, he didn’t want to think about Dwalin’s words which had kept him up all night.

He swung the pickaxe and stone crashed down after a satisfying thud. Thud. Crash. 

A chip hit his hand. They usually worked more carefully for this reason, sometimes even tying clothes around their hands, but Thorin barely noticed, smashing the rock as hard as he could. Thud. Crash. Thud. Crash.

“Thorin?” The voice came from the far side of the field of crumbled rock Thorin had created in his rampage.

Thorin suddenly became aware of the heaviness of his arms. He was not quite sure how long he had been at it. Still, he did not stop but swung the pickaxe again. Stone was easy to deal with, much easier than Dwalin. 

“Thorin.” 

Thorin swung his pickaxe, but he could still hear heavy boots crunch across the rubble. 

“Thorin.” 

A large hand guided Thorin’s pickaxe to the ground. When Thorin didn’t turn around to face him, Dwalin took both of his hands in his.

“You’re bleeding.”

Thorin let out a shaky breath and sagged back against Dwalin. It wasn’t what he had meant to do, but Dwalin’s solid shape felt good against his back.

“We should get that cleaned.”

Thorin gave a minute shake of his head. He felt Dwalin’s sigh more than he heard it. Dwalin began running his thumbs in soft circles over Thorin’s wrists.

“One of those days, isn’t it?”

Thorin nodded.

Several long minutes passed before Dwalin took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. You know I’m not that good with words and I didn’t mean... well, yes, I did mean it, but I shouldn’t have said it that way. Not then and not like that. I can understand if you want nothing of the sort. I’m sorry. I misinterpreted things because I wanted to see things that weren’t there.”

“No.”

There was a moment of silence.

“No?” Dwalin asked, confusion plain in his voice.

Thorin swallowed. 

“It’s not about what I want. It was a thing of our youth, we can’t just cast something new with that old mould. This is not Erebor. This is still exile, still not somewhere where we can allow ourselves the luxury of... I may no longer have the social constraints of a prince or a king, but I do have to put my people first. I cannot allow myself to settle, to let the luxury of that make me complacent.”

Dwalin laughed, a sad sound between disbelief and despair.

“In Erebor, it couldn’t be because you were to become king. And now, this is not to be because you aren’t king?”

Thorin closed his eyes to keep the prickling at their corners from turning into tears.

“You need to stop letting Erebor weigh you down. This settlement was supposed to be a chance to live a proper life. It is that for most of us. You should let that extend to you. For your own sake, not for whatever hopes I was entertaining.”

Thorin said nothing and after a moment, Dwalin let go of his hands. He brushed over Thorin’s dissolving braid in a gesture of helpless affection as he broke his embrace.

“We should really get your hands cleaned up.”

This time, Thorin followed.

 

Thorin was surprised to see Dwalin on the third watchtower the following evening. If Dwalin was surprised to see him, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he wordlessly offered Thorin fire for his pipe. 

“How are your hands?” Dwalin asked after a while.

Thorin shrugged. “As good as is to be expected.”

Dwalin had bandaged his hands after cleaning out the wounds, even though Thorin had quietly protested he could do it himself. Now, the scent of the salve followed Thorin around.

Dís had given him an earful when she came over and saw the state of his hands, her now round belly not making her any less intimidating. 

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said.

Dwalin shrugged, his movements tense. “Let’s not talk about that.”

And so they stood in silence.

 

It took them a while to figure out how to deal with each other. They kept a bigger distance between each other during their evenings on the watch tower, but they did continue their tradition. They also went on hunts together and set out to add details to their maps of the area. It took an effort to remember to keep a little more distance. At first, neither of them noticed when they stood beside each other with their arms touching or they brushed fingers when passing each other a pencil or a jar.

 

Thorin was helping Bombur with the little canals and pipes. Bombur poured a little water into a part of a system to test it. To both of their displeasure, it turned out that some of the material was cracked and they were busy trying to stem the flow, their clothes already soaking wet. 

“Water will flow, even if there’s something in its way. It will just flow around the obstacle,” Thorin said to himself, the brick falling into place in his head.

“Well, _yes_ , obviously,” Bombur said carefully, as though speaking to a not particularly bright child. “Which is why I need you to hand me that bucket.”

Thorin did as told. 

Water would flow, and molten metal would flow to fill a mould. If there was something blocking the mould when metal was being cast, it would only cause problems. And what was the use in that if there _was_ a perfectly usable mould?

 

It had been one of those evenings when Thorin and Dwalin talked until there was nothing else to say. Then, they stood in silence, looking out into the darkness of the moonless night. There was a chill in the air, but Dwalin’s arm was warm against Thorin’s. 

“Dwalin?” 

Dwalin turned around to face Thorin. And Thorin realised that despite all the thinking he had been doing in the days and weeks since that realisation with drenched clothes and a bucket in his hand, he hadn’t actually decided on what he would say. 

“I...”

Thorin faltered and realised he was close enough to feel Dwalin’s breath on his face. He felt himself reminded of that evening on the ramparts all those years ago again. 

There was a different kind of apprehension in Dwalin’s face than there had been then. Now it wasn’t apprehension about what might happen, it was apprehension about what might not happen. 

Thorin briefly wondered if he had managed to turn Dwalin away. But Dwalin was still here, still looking at him like he had everything to lose, still facing him. He hadn’t moved away, but was still waiting. And Thorin decided he had kept him waiting long enough.

Thorin’s lips brushed against Dwalin’s and he could feel Dwalin let out a deep breath. Encouraged, Thorin deepened the kiss and Dwalin cupped the back of his head with his hands, gently pulling him closer.

It was a careful kiss, both of them still afraid of rejection, both of them reluctant to let it end.

When it did end and they pulled apart far enough to look at each other, Thorin marvelled at the softness in Dwalin’s smile. He could feel it reflected in his own face, beating in his own chest.

Still, Thorin couldn’t help but glance into the sky. It remained windless and dark, with only the stars twinkling overhead.

“Smaug is far away, don’t worry. No dragon is going to come just because of us,” Dwalin said.

Thorin meant to laugh, but the sound came out strangely strangled. He buried his face in Dwalin’s neck instead of offering a real reply.

They stood wrapped around each other for a long time.

 

The ceremony for the water pipe system took slightly more planning than that for the gate. Gates and doors were structures that were built fairly often, so there were known ceremonies that had not been lost with Erebor or time. This was different for water pipe systems. They were rarely built at all and when they needed renewing, it was usually done in parts, which didn’t require a ceremony. And nobody could remember the necessary rituals for a new system. There had been a brief discussion whether such a ceremony was really necessary, but they quickly agreed that it was. There was just too much that could go wrong with pipes to risk not having Mahal’s blessing. 

Thorin had pored over different ceremonial procedures with Balin and Óin. Finally, they had agreed on a fitting ritual and the right words to go with it. 

Thorin gave the river seven rune stones under the slowly flickering light of the glow worms, a gift in exchange for the water it was giving them. He spoke the words they had adapted from the ritual for the inauguration of a well. Drums led him along the main canals, their rhythm filling his heart and driving his legs as he spoke words from Balin’s feather. Health, prosperity and growth were woven between the ancient words for durability and strength. Finally, they came to the fountain in the inner market. Thorin spoke the words to never let a well run dry and wrote the matching runes onto the fountain with ritual ashes. Finally, he turned on the fountain. With a brief gurgling sound, water came rushing out of the fountain, flowing down over the terraces one by one as they filled.

The following feast was the best one yet. Pheasant, duck and beef joined the usual venison and mutton. The stews were plentiful and there were delicious fruits from near and far. 

After a while Thorin leaned back to look around. The other dwarves were eating happily, talking about how their businesses were starting to flourish and what their plans for the future were. A group of musicians began playing a lively tune and the first dwarves decided to leave some of the food for later and dance first. Thorin watched as a toddling Kíli chased his older brother around a table, giggling when Fíli overtook him instead.

His town was not complete, it wouldn’t be as long as new dwarves decided to join them, but all the main buildings and structures were finished. It was far beyond what he had imagined.

Thorin turned to see Dwalin watching him. With a smile, Thorin reached for a loaf of bannock bread. He slowly held it out to Dwalin.

“Half of mine and half of yours, thus shall it be from this day on.”

Dwalin’s eyes widened and a smile slowly spread across his face. He carefully broke the loaf in half.

“Half of mine and half of yours, thus shall it be from this day on.”

Gently, they pressed their foreheads together. It had been a long time coming.


End file.
